Easy by Tammara Webber Read Free Book Online

hard, I’d be jealous of you.”
    The way she
described it, the process sounded like an expedition to an exotic continent. I
didn’t share her feelings, not in the least. The idea of finding a new guy sounded
exhausting and depressing. “Erin, I don’t think I’m ready—”
    “That’s what you
said last weekend, and you did fine!” She frowned, thinking, and for the hundredth
time, I almost told her about Buck. “Even if you did leave early.” She rehung
the black dress I didn’t intend to wear, and I held my tongue, losing my chance
again. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her. I was mostly afraid she’d be
infuriated. More unreasonably, I was afraid she’d be disbelieving. Neither
response was something I wanted to contend with; I just wanted to forget.
    I thought of Lucas,
annoyed that his presence in econ was making that process impossible, because
he was irrevocably connected to the horror of that night. He’d not looked at me
at all Friday—as far as I knew. Every time I snuck a look back at him, he
appeared to be sketching rather than taking notes, his black pencil held low
between his fingers, a concentrated expression on his face. When class ended,
he stuck the pencil behind his ear, turned and walked from the classroom
without a backward glance, first one out the door.
     “Now this will show off the goods,” Erin said, breaking into my reverie. Next up was a
stretchy, low-cut purple top. Yanking it from the hanger, she tossed it to me.
“Put on your skinny jeans and those badass boots that make you look like a gangbanger’s
girlfriend. This fits your tough, I’m-a-challenge mood better anyway. You have
to dress to attract the right guys, and if I make you too cute, you’ll flick
them all away with glares and irritated rolls of your big blue eyes.”
    I sighed and she laughed, pulling the black dress over her own head. Erin knew me far too well.
     
    ***
    I’d lost count of the number of
drinks Erin had pressed into my hand, telling me that since she was the
designated driver, I was required to drink for two. “I can’t touch any of these
hotties, either—so I have to live vicariously. Now finish that margarita, stop
scowling, and stare at one of these guys until he knows he won’t lose a limb if
he asks you to dance.”
    “I’m not
scowling!” I scowled, obeying and tossing the drink back. I grimaced. Cheap
tequila refused to be concealed by an abundance of even cheaper margarita mix,
but that’s what you get for no cover charge and five dollar drinks.
    Still relatively early,
the small club we decided to occupy for the night wasn’t yet overcrowded with
the hundreds of college students and townies it would hold soon. Erin, Maggie
and I claimed a corner of the near-vacant floor. Having downed the drinks and dressed
the part, I moved to the music, gradually loosening up while laughing at Erin’s
cheer poses and Maggie’s ballet movements. The first guy to interrupt us approached
Erin, but she shook her head as her lips mouthed the word boyfriend. She
turned him toward me and I thought: That’s me: boyfriend-less. No more
relationship. No more Kennedy. No more You’re my Jackie .
    “Wanna dance?” the
guy yelled over the music, fidgeting as though he was ready to bolt if I turned
him down. I nodded, choking back the pointless, almost physical pain. I was no
one’s girlfriend, for the first time in three years.
    We moved to an
open space a few feet from Erin and Maggie—who also had a boyfriend. It didn’t
take long to figure out that the two of them planned to point every guy who
asked one of them to dance at me . I was their pet project for the night.
    Two hours later,
I’d danced with too many guys to remember, dodging wandering hands and turning
down any drinks not handed to me by Erin. Crowded around a tall table near the
floor, we leaned hips on the barstools surrounding it, watching the surrounding
hookup activity. As Maggie returned from bopping and pirouetting her